The makings of legends
by epsi10n
Summary: Scenes about Hogwarts' founders, mostly taking place in the earlier years of their lives. (These are just things I wrote for Hermione Granger and the Serpent's Renaissance but most likely won't be able to fit in it. They can also be read independently.) [Newest chapter: Hogwarts, as good a name as any]
1. Human nature

"It's time to wake, young master,"

"Thank you, Tinker," Salazar opened his eyes, and gasped as they fell on the calendar across the room. "By the stars! It's…"

Salazar bounced out of bed in a most inelegant manner, apologizing to the poor elf when he narrowly missed landing on him. Mother and father would scold him to no ends if they could see him now, but who cared! "It's…"

Best count the check marks again to be sure. Make certain this is real…

"It's the thirty-first day! That means I get to go down to the village!"

"Tinker will tell Master Solomon for young master," said Tinker before disapparating with a pop, leaving Salazar to beam widely to himself.

He'd done it! It was taking him so long that he'd thought he'd have to wait for as long as his twelfth birthday or something, but he'd done it at last! He'd finally gone thirty days without accidental magic!

Father had told him it was too risky to go near muggles before his magic becomes more controllable, and had given him a list of exercises to do to gain control of his power faster. Simply itching to see the village - or just some people other than the occasional visitors, really, Salazar had been following the routine religiously while counting the days. And for the last entire month, there had been no shattering windows, no explosions, no in-door lightning storms, no spontaneous combustions, no anything! He was finally going to the village!

Giddy, Salazar skipped to his closet and dressed, laughing. The calendar page ripped itself as he reached to tear it out.

Salazar promptly tossed it into the fireplace - because that absolutely didn't count - and carefully raked apart the ashes.

"Tinker informs me that you've been able to control your magic for thirty days already?" Father's grey eyes examined Salazar from head to toe when he entered the dining room. They were a shade darker than the cool mist over the fen and a shade lighter than storm clouds. Sometimes, Salazar thought they gleamed like silver. "You've been following the daily exercises still, of course?"

Salazar bobbed his head, trying (but failing, he feared) to resemble a dignified lord rather than an excited puppy.

"And the nightly meditation?" asked mother.

"Certainly, mother."

"Then you may visit the village with us today, Salazar, if you promise to behave and stay close to us."

And Salazar leapt into his chair, eating quickly and just barely managing not to wolf down his food. Finally, he was seated in the carriage beside mother and father, and they were off.

The streets in the village was bustling with people, so busy that it was easier to walk in on foot and leave the carriage outside. Salazar looked around with wide eyes as the muggles brisked to and fro. Some of the muggles saw father and bowed, and father nodded back in return. Many were haggling in front of shops and stands with the people who must be the merchants. One building was particularly busy - father said it was called a "tavern". Salazar thought the people who came out of it, mostly men, seemed to be stumbling a bit. Maybe they'd been drinking wine? Father had said once that it could happen if one drank too much. In front of the tavern, one man slapped another and was punched in the eye in return. And all the others, who had been standing around, gathered into a circle and clapped and sniggered loudly as the two fighting men began to roll on the ground in an attempt to break each other's nose. Salazar wondered why they would do that - it wasn't very nice of them, but father pulled him along before he could get another look.

"Lord Slytherin," someone called.

"Ah, him. This'll take some time, I believe," father muttered, "I'll meet you at the carriage, Elaine. Salazar, stay with your mother."

Salazar knew that father wouldn't request something of him without good reason, so he dutifully held mother's hand as they moved with the stream of muggles deeper into the village. Sometimes they would stop at some of the shops, in which case the shop owner would hurry out to greet mother with as much merchandise as they could quickly gather and carry in two arms - be it linen, clay pots, or chains of moldy garlic, knowing that she could afford anything they had.

Salazar wasn't sure he wanted to visit the village that much anymore, in the future. The curiosity was wearing off, and now he was starting to find it a little too loud, a little too disorderly. The people here didn't seem very nice either. No one bothered Salazar and mother because they were accompanied by the muggle soldier who drove them here, but Salazar could swear he'd spotted at least ten thieves in the act. He'd seen some children his age, but they didn't seem like the kind of people whose company he'd appreciate either. And so Salazar was not at all unhappy when mother started to turn back.

Then, someone screamed.

This was followed by another, then indistinguishable yelling from some distance away.

"Come along, Sal," mother murmured, and picked up her pace. Salazar jogged to keep up as they threaded through the crowd, against the current. "Do you know what's happening, mother?"

"No, but it doesn't sound pleasant," mother said simply, "do you, Peter?"

"I've no idea either, my lady," said the soldier, confused, "Make way for the Lady Slytherin!"

This, unfortunately, had little effect in parting the crowd. In fact, people seemed to have started running, seemingly in all directions now. The shouting was coming closer, drowning out Peter's voice. What by Hecate was causing all this?

Suddenly, a woman knocked into Salazar head-first. As he stumbled back, he felt mother's hand slip out of his. "Mother!" he yelled, disoriented, but the crowd had already closed around him, blocking out any sight of her and the soldier, as well as anything that could tell him which way was which. And the people kept running, jostling him and forcing him to move with them or fall and get trampled. He wasn't sure how far he went, as all he could see around him was forests of legs. Eventually, he found himself in a large clearing that must've been the village square, and realized with horror that he must've gone the wrong way after all.

"Excuse me, sirs, could you let me pass please?" Salazar tried to somehow maneuver back into the street he'd lost mother in, to no avail. And then he saw them.

Tall, wooden stakes, erected in a cluster in the middle of the square with a pile of carelessly gathered sticks and firewood at their base. To their left sat a very large, ominous looking wooden cage, but it was not empty. A woman and an infant were inside, sobbing and screaming to be let out. Two men had hoisted a boy - just older than Salazar - into the air, so that his feet dangled over the ground. He was fighting them tooth and nail, but they threw him inside too, raising their torches in victory.

And Salazar froze, stunned, because he suddenly realised what they were doing.

 _'No…'_

Salazar gulped. He had to get away. Where was mother? Where was father? To make matters worse, he could feel magic bubbling within him with his anxiety. He mustn't let it break out. If they see him doing magic, trapped here, of all places…

Hastily, Salazar tried to clear his mind. Thinking of consequences wasn't helping. He could do this. He'd held back his magic for thirty days, what was one or two hours more to him?

But this morning, the calendar… The bubbling came back in full force. Was he really ready?

And Salazar started running, no longer caring which street. Any street that would take him away from here, away from the stakes, the mob, the torches -

"Hey! What have we here?" A hand closed around his collar, jerking him back.

Salazar shrieked, and suddenly found himself being forced to stare upward into the face of a young man with blue eyes and a terrible grin. "Nervous little brat, aren't you? We're just burning all the witches and devilspawns. Why so frightened, hmm? Guilty conscience, perhaps?"

"Hey Andrew, got another one?"

"Yup!"

"Good job! And how many years do you think this one's been alive for, huh? Five? Four?"

"I - " Salazar struggled to speak. The man - Andrew - was cutting off his air. "I can't find my parents -"

"That's five years too long then! You know, we should buy ourselves a drink for every devilspawn we caught today. I think if we sit outside the tavern, we can just about smell them burn!"

"- Please! My father is -"

"I say, the kid looks an awful lot like someone," the other young man, Andrew's friend, squinted at Salazar as if he was a curious specimen. "Those eyes, for example."

"You're right," grunted Andrew, and Salazar was helpless as he was turned this way and that. "Can't say who, though… Lost your parents, you say? Need to get home, you say?" Andrew suddenly smiled, deceptively sweetly, and pulled Salazar up to eye level.

Salazar nodded warily, no longer trusting himself to speak. He knew that keeping his magic in check was priority. With so many witnesses here, father would have to kill the whole village to save him if he let it slip -

"Well you're in luck, because I think we might've seen them… Oh right! We probably already put them in there! Go back to hell, you little devilspawn!" and the two muggles guffawed, as if they'd said something very funny. They fortunately hadn't noticed the flames in their torches flicker. Salazar gasped for air, hastily stopping it. Breathe. Just breathe. Don't think of the flame. Don't think of consequences. Don't think at all just breathe - _'Father… Where are you?'_

"Unhand my son. And I hope for your sssake that you did not refer to him by 'devilspawn'."

Father was rushing toward them, followed by his distraught-looking mother, followed by the muggle soldier Peter. A small band of muggles with torches scrambled after them. Andrew jumped, and Salazar was dropped like hot coal before he was caught in strong arms. Looking up, Salazar saw that father's eyes were definitely gleaming now, like the silver blade of a dagger.

"L-Lord Slytherin!" The two young men stuttered, horror dawning on them as their eyes flickered between father and son. "W-We didn't know... We've never met the young lord before -"

Father raised a hand to silence him, his face perfectly devoid of any expression. "Salazar," he whispered softly, searching his face. And Salazar, realizing that he was trying to determine how much the muggles saw by legilimency, made sure to look into the pair of silver eyes.

"I lost mother in the crowd, father. I was searching for her when they seized me by my neck. I was so frightened!"

Father glared at Andrew icily. Since the bubbling magic had settled the moment he was safely in father's arms, Salazar was now calm enough to notice that Andrew had soiled himself. "You two, explain yourselves."

"H-he seemed frightened...nervous..." Andrew and his friend stuttered out, but anything excuse they give now sounded laughably weak. Some of the muggles around them were shaking their head pityingly, Salazar noticed. Over the cracking of the torchfire, he caught snippets of tut-tutting and low murmurs:

"What happened? Why're we stopping?"

"Two poor idiots spooked the lord's son, then grabbed the boy for being scared. His Eminence caught them red-handed…"

"Jesus! What were they thinking? They're doomed! And going after the young lord, of all people…"

"Yeah! Dunno how they made that mistake either. The boy's a spittin' image of his father, see…"

And, of course, there were the sniggers and smirks. Some of the torch carriers were even laughing at Andrew openly, yet Salazar had no doubt that they would've laughed just as gleefully at himself as fire slowly licks up his sides and as he burns to a crisp. Many people delighted in seeing someone suffer, Salazar realized sadly. It didn't matter if it was a man, a child, a wizard, a muggle, two drunkards in front of a tavern, or one of their own accomplices. There would be no sympathy, only jeers at your expense.

Salazar wondered if it was just the dirty, uncouth muggles, or if wizards acted the same way? Salazar had yet to meet another one apart from his father and mother, but they wouldn't right? Surely they knew better?

Or was it simply human nature? Because if it was, then the world was really not a friendly place.

Still clinging onto father's neck, Salazar resolved never to put himself at anyone's mercy ever again. Ever.

Father arched a hard eyebrow and gave Salazar's captors, then the crowd around them, a sweeping, searching glance. "The conventional penalty for attempts on the life of a lord's heir is death."

At this point, Andrew and his friend fell to their knees. "Please, Lord Slytherin! It's the first time we've joined a witchhunt, and we got… got carried away! Have mercy! Please!"

But father ignored them. Instead, he whirled around to face the group of muggles who had been following him, and who were now looking decidedly uncomfortable. "And you! How many other children do you plan to burn because they are frightened of you? How can you ascertain their guilt? How do you know if some jealous men had not thrown a young woman in that cage in a drunken rage, for rejecting their advances? How do you know if a stepmother had not declared her husband's oldest child a devilspawn, to increase her own child's inheritance? How would you know if what you call 'suspicious', is but mere coincidences?" By now, the soldiers among the villagers had finally succeeded in ushering everyone to freeze, at Lord Slytherin's orders. "Look to your sons. Look to your daughters. Where are they?"

A good many torch-wielding muggles actually started to look around, half fearing to find their children in the grasps of one of their accomplices.

"Open the cage. Let the people go. From this point on, those who kill anyone for 'witchcraft' without evidence approved by myself shall be charged with murder. Those two, decapitation at noon."

No one was surprised by the verdict.

And Salazar watched as the assembled crowd slowly shuffled off, as the people inside the cage scrambled out, and as Salazar's captors were locked inside in their place. Some of them knelt and thanked father profusely, saying that God knew they were innocent and must've sent him to save them, while others darted away with their children as soon as they humanly could. Those were the real witches and wizards, Salazar realized.

And father took Salazar to a shadowed, secluded corner of the square, where they sat and waited for noon.

"I've been looking for the opportunity to say that for a very long time. One could almost say those two did us a favour," Father muttered, staring hard at the wooden cage. "Almost."

Salazar understood. Father had tried to talk the muggles into reconsidering the burnings in the past, but to give an order of this magnitude was another matter. If father appeared too sympathetic with the accused "devilspawns", the lynch mob would be at their castle door in no time.

"It was a mistake to bring you here today. Normally they do this in the middle of the night on a solstice, but something occurred that made them reschedule. I'm glad you're safe."

Salazar nodded, and leaned closer into his father's chest.

"Do those young men have to die?" asked mother.

"I would've liked to let them live, but unfortunately in their desperation they've become insistent that they're right. I saw it in their minds. Even if they saw nothing, they will have convinced themselves before long that perhaps they glimpsed the torch flare, or perhaps the wind suddenly began to blow harder, or that perhaps Salazar muttered something suspicious under his breath, or some other nonsense. We cannot have that," father's silver eyes blazed. "And they brought this onto themssselves. _An eye for an eye_ ,"

Mother gently touched his shoulders. "Careful, Solomon, you're doing it again."

"Ah, sorry. My apologies." Father took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. Salazar knew that he must be unprecedentedly infuriated, to nearly lapse into parseltongue twice in the same hour. Had father not gotten to him in time…

"Father," Salazar realized something, "We can't really make them stop, can we?"

"Unfortunately not, Salazar. I can discredit their evidence. I can discredit their witnesses. I might even be able to buy people some time to escape. But if a child is caught performing obvious magic…we won't be able to free them from that cage again. If only there is a way to find them before the muggles do, and teach them to take care of themselves, we would be able to end this for ever."

Perhaps because blood was still rushing in his ears, or perhaps because of the shock, Salazar was content to sit silently on father's lap and let that thought wash over him like rhythmic, lapping waves.

 _'To find the other witches and wizards before the muggles do, and then teach them,'_

Yes, if only…

* * *

 **A.N.: Haha these have relatively little plot, so there's nothing to compensate for my weakness in** **descriptive writing anymore. Sorry if I disappoint you guys.**

 **I'd originally wanted to have this as a flash back when Sal was lying in the hospital (and then relate it to being dependent on one's parents), but it just didn't work out.**


	2. The lad is brave

Many have wondered about the wisdom of this lifestyle I lead, myself included. After all, it is typical for us knights to retire at the ripe old age of fifty and retreat to somewhere hidden, before we eventually become known for breaking our frail old bones tripping over our own horses.

Granted, they do not know that I am a wizard and am capable of living much longer... But once a knight, always a knight I say! As long as I can still move, I will live like a knight until the day I perish. And so, I have continued to gallop around the country like the younger men. I have even taken on a young squire just two weeks back.

He is a sturdy, well-exercised lad at eleven years of age, with a ruddy face and energetic green eyes. He is magical like myself, as is his family. His father is a happy farmer who's done very well for his family with his small plot of land - I suspect magic was involved - and very supportive of the boy's dream of seeing the world.

His name is Godric, and he is turning out very nicely.

The first seven days since the boy joined me, we spent on the road - myself on my black horse and Godric on his little white pony. Settlements were sparse in this part of the country, and often had leagues and leagues of empty land between them. I could tell that Godric was rather bored, and disappointed. I knew he was expecting adventures every day and I sympathised with him fully. And so I have since allowed my young protégé to carry and play with a different one of my weapons each day, which helped to pass the time. It would do him good to become familiar with what each of their components do, the distribution of their weight, and how they feel as they moved through the air. The rest of my weapons I have magically lightened and carried myself. In time I will ask him to either carry or levitate all of them for me as exercise.

On the eighth day, however, we settled in a small village inn. Godric was overjoyed - he'd never slept inside an inn before, he said. I, too, was glad for the prospect of having good food and an actual bed again. I gave Godric a sip of my beer at supper, which he promptly spat out and declared to be "Yuck!" to the guffaw of everyone at the bar. I told him that he will like it when he becomes a man. He did not seem inclined to believe me, but I think he will soon.

After we and our horses were comfortably fed and rested, I told the lad about King Arthur's court and Merlin, who in my opinion is the greatest wizard ever born and who I knew personally. I also showed him some tricks on my horse. He was fascinated by how my stallion could stand on his hind legs or vault over a low fence. It's all about trust, I told him. Once you and your horse trust each other enough, you'll be able to go anywhere you want.

But I did not expect what I saw when I woke up the next morning.

Young Godric was galloping around the empty yard with his pony, and did not notice me when I stood by the door to watch him. He was decently skilled with horses, which I was glad to see. His feet were gentle when he nudged the flank of his pony, yet it obeyed his commands immediately.

Then, I saw him bend down to ask the pony, "Do you trust me?" It neighed.

The lad laughed happily, then urged his pony into a sprint toward the fence we were vaulting over the day before. I couldn't believe him! That fence, low for me and my stallion, was nearly as tall as the white pony's legs! Well, the lad must've trained the pony well because it managed to clear the obstacle without tripping. Godric himself, however, was too busy whooping at his success and so rolled off the pony's back at the impact of landing. It's fortunate that no one saw his accidental magic break his fall, or we would have been in deep trouble.

So now another week has passed, and my young protégé and I are on the road again. I still do not know Godric too well, but I can already tell he will become a great knight when he grows older.

Because if nothing else, the lad is brave. Of that I am certain.

\- Sir Cadogan's diary

* * *

 **A.N.: My theory is that Cadogan in real life was a bit more competent than what his portrait depicted him as.**


	3. Is it folly?

The low, wet grass made sloshing sounds as his horse's hooves sunk into the dark grey soil, releasing moisture with each galloping step.

Salazar gathered his cloak around himself, so that it would not fall so low as to catch the specks of splashing water. It was a lord's responsibility to regularly survey the land - to familiarize himself with it and the people who lived on it, to understand how it was changing either for better or for worse, and to know whether there were problems to be fixed. As his father's heir, Salazar needed to get into this habit early.

Salazar preferred to go on these rides alone, now that he was sixteen and more capable of defending himself from bandits and other hostile people. He was adequately trained in swordplay for close-ranged combat, although he would very much prefer to use the three throwing daggers that he kept inside his cloak at all times. And if all else failed, his acacia-and-thestral tail wand had yet to fail him.

Besides, riding alone had another advantage, for it was mostly through these trips that Salazar was able to keep tabs on the small magical population among the subjects of the Slytherin estates. On the occasions that he spotted the use of magic, he would pretend not to notice for the moment, but return in disguise to pay the family a visit later at some convenient hour - an endeavour that his father supported after some persuasion on his part. He hadn't forgotten the "witchhunt" that nearly claimed him, that gave him nightmares for years until he'd finally been able to cast a reliable fire shield, and what it would take to stop it. _'Find the witches and wizards before the muggles do, then teach them...'_

Salazar applauded the ancestor who had documented her study on the mind and had theorised that it was possible to erase memory. The obliviation charm was truly a useful spell, once he'd managed to make it work two years ago. Since then, there had been a gradual decline in the number of "heathens" captured, and no more burnings. The opinion among the muggles seemed to be that the devil had given up for the time being. Perhaps soon magic would finally be safe - on his family's land at least.

Then Salazar was stirred out of his thoughts as a lone rider appeared on the horizon.

It was a young man, not much older than Salazar himself. He wasn't very hard to miss, really. A new-looking pointed hat sat haphazardly over his head, and his red cape stood out sharply against the teal green fields that surrounded them as it fluttered wildly in the wind. He was sitting astride a speckled horse - or was it a white horse in need of a bath?

Its rider seem to believe it was the latter, because Salazar heard him mutter loudly as he rubbed its neck: "... sorry about all this mud and water, boy. I know you're cold, but it shouldn't be too long before we reach another village, kay? Then you get a nice long rest, and I get a nice mug of mead, sounds good? Here, this'll make it better..." And he took out a stick that Salazar was certain to be a wand, and waved it in the pattern of a hot air charm. His horse neighed appreciatively.

Another wizard!

They seemed to have travelled long and far, Salazar noted with some curiosity. And the wizard must be either well accustomed to this lifestyle or incredibly optimistic by nature, judging by the broad smile that was entirely undampened by the cold, humid mist over the fens unlike his orange-tinted hair. He seemed very energetic too, and fond of exploring new places - and perhaps a little incautious, considering that he hadn't checked his surroundings once in the entire duration of time that Salazar had stopped his own horse to watch him perform magic...

Currently the wizard in the red cape was ruffling the speckled (?) stallion's mane affectionately, before finally looking up and realizing with horror that he wasn't alone.

He paled. "This - This isn't what you think!" He yelled, gesturing to the wand that was still in his hand wildly, "I really am just holding an ordinary stick, and I was... scratching my horse with it! Yes, scratching my horse! And, and - " Salazar resisted the urge to smirk. If Salazar really had been a muggle, the wizard's excuses would only have made him look more suspicious rather than less.

Logically, Salazar should've pretended to buy the explanation anyways and rode on as he'd done so many other times. There were dangers in exposing oneself to a stranger, even if the stranger is also magical. What if he didn't care enough to keep Salazar's secret, or let it slip out accidentally? Damage control could be very tedious. Besides, he wasn't Salazar's responsibility. In all likelihood he would've passed through the Slytherin lands by the end of the day, never to return.

But for some reason or another Salazar hadn't. Later, he would half-heartedly decide that it was the folly of youth. In truth, he never did quite figured out why.

Instead, he gently nudged his own horse forward until he was nearly side by side with the other wizard, and whispered. "I believe the word you're looking for is 'Obliviate'. It's a spell myself and my ancestors developed, and it does exactly what you think it does."

The red-caped rider jerked. "You too?"

Salazar confirmed by summoning his own wand from the inside of his sleeve, even as he wondered how father would frown at his indiscretion. "Don't tell anyone about me though, or I must use it on you."

The traveller grinned despite the threat, and to Salazar's surprise, reached over to clap Salazar on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, good fellow! I'm an honorable man, and I'll keep my words. Are you a local? I'm so glad I ran into you. See, my horse and I thought we'd have to travel for another day before we reach another village! I bet we would've just narrowly missed it if we just kept on going forward! Er, name's Godric - Sir Godric Gryffindor."

Salazar didn't know what had gotten to him. He would never be so imprudent again. But for the second time that day, he did something he really hadn't considered as thoroughly as he should have - yet something he wouldn't regret at all. "My name is Salazar Slytherin. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Godric Gryffindor. And you are correct - our village is close by. I can show you the way if you like."


	4. Hogwarts, as good a name as any

The other lords would be trouble. Sal had anticipated that.

Still, now that she was confronted with the frowning faces of Lord Black, Lady Malfoy, and Lord Longbottom - all heads of prominent magical families and at least ten years in her senior, Rowena couldn't help but feel a little unnerved.

"I still find it hard to believe," began Lord Black scathingly, "This decision of yours… is positively shocking."

Lord Longbottom, meanwhile, was almost gentle. "We all agree that a school for magic would be beneficial. But to invite the offspring of those filthy muggles to learn alongside our children? I especially did not expect this from you, Slytherin. And you, Ravenclaw."

Rowena flinched slightly at the accusary words: 'You are high born, heirs of two well respected magical families. You are one of us. Why are you betraying our interests?'

A glance at Salazar showed that his face was impressively blank. He had always been better at this than she was.

"My lords and lady," Salazar began their defence in a smooth voice that did not waver, "We understand your concerns perfectly. But we also must realize that without guidance, without being taught to control their gifts, the muggleborn wizards are a liability. They may grow resentful against us - for why should we be able to learn and rise above the squabble that is the muggle society while they, who are equally magical, cannot? And if they attempt to learn magic on their own, which would be very slow but possible, they would risk being discovered. The largest part of the muggle paranoia of magic is fuelled by the accidental magic of inexperienced muggleborns, my lords and lady. And that, for the safety of our own children, is something we should try to prevent."

"Their parents may be muggles, but we cannot deny that they are magical. We must find these children and educate them so that they can truly become one of us," finished Godric. This was the most effective argument to use against the concerns of the lords, they'd decided beforehand. Assure them that it was for their own good. Be calm and collected, as was expected among the upper class. And most of all, convince them that they were all still on the same side.

Right. Rowena clasped her hands together to stop herself from fidgeting.

"Yet the offsprings of those uncouth beings might corrupt our children with their beliefs!" Countered Lady Malfoy. "I will not allow my son to pick up their revulsion toward learning, their disrespect for basic literacy, and their fear of anything beyond their tiny circle of understanding!"

"My lady, we have a system in place to sort the students by what they want out of life and the type of education they desire. I can assure you that if your son strives for greatness, he will be taught among like-minded individuals." Once again, Rowena marvelled at how Salazar could sound so assuring. Especially when just yesterday he'd looked so worried frowning over a list of possible arguments from the lords and a noticeably shorter list of counterarguments.

"But wouldn't the muggles notice if their children are removed from them?" Lord Longbottom tried a different tack.

"No they will not, milord," Rowena explained earnestly, "The parents of the boys will be under the impression that their son is at a faraway castle, assisting some lord on his hog hunting trips. It would be a fortunate enough position, so they likely would not speak of it much to their neighbours."

"And meanwhile the girls are supposed to be assisting a warts doctor," added Helga cheerily, "Which is true to some extent, I suppose, since I am indeed a healer and they will indeed be learning charms to treat warts among other things. And I can personally go and pick them up, to make it more authentic."

For a minute they stood there, staring each other down.

"They must be taught," said Salazar, "for the good of all of us." Through years of watching him operate, Rowena knew that his tone was carefully controlled to sound at once respectful and insistent.

"I suppose your decision is not entirely mad," Lord Black grumbled, "but I still don't like this."

Giving the four one last haughty glare, he swept out of the room, followed by Lady Malfoy. At the door, Lord Longbottom paused.

"So you will insist on teaching the spawns of the mundane? Is that what you want to be known for, heir Ravenclaw? Heir Slytherin? The hogs-and-warts school of wizardry and witchcraft?"

Rowena saw Godric and Helga glance fleetingly at her with concern. Even the corners of Salazar's lips twitched minutely, breaking his well-practiced mask of polite blankness. (What expression her own face was displaying she knew not.) Lord Longbottom was, once again, pressing on a sore point, and Rowena couldn't help but wonder what her ancestors would say. House Ravenclaw - proud, noble, illustrious - becoming connected with something so mundane? Would they be ashamed of her for sullying their reputation?

Or would they be proud?

Rowena took a breath and reminded herself of the real reason they were doing this. Every magical child deserve to learn to use their gifts, no matter their background.

She drew herself up and stared back defiantly. "Then, milord, I suppose Hogwarts is as good a name as any."

* * *

 **A.N.: What if the name "Hogwarts" was not a drunkard's decision, but a testament of the Founders' resolve?**


End file.
